


Sick Day

by Musafir



Series: Carpe Diem Or Not [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Gen, Protective Bruce, Sickfic, sick tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musafir/pseuds/Musafir
Summary: Damian sees a monster (or so he thinks), Bruce Broods, and Dick exercises his motherly instincts. Jason wonders how he is related to this family and all Tim wanted to do was sleep.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little snippet that wouldn't leave me alone! Enjoy!

A high pitched scream echoed through the halls of the manor, effectively startling its occupants.  

 

“Was that a girl?” Jason asked Alfred, before vaulting over the kitchen counter-top and out the door to investigate. Similarly, Dick climbed three flights of stairs, using the wrong side of the banister, and Bruce’s heavy foot falls could be heard as he ran towards the commotion. 

 

The three eldest Wayne men met at the corridor leading into a private wing for personal bedrooms. Tim’s to be exact. Bruce exchanged a terse look with his sons and then swiftly continued on, with them at his heels. 

 

Rounding the corner he abruptly stopped, feeling Dick’s breath raise the hair on the back of his neck as his eldest nearly crashed into his back. 

 

“Damian?!”

 

The youngest Wayne was standing before the open door to Tim’s bedroom and was staring in with a look of utmost horror. 

 

“What’s wrong Damian?” Bruce demanded, striding over. Behind him, Dick and Jason subconsciously fell into formation, preparing for anything and everything.  

 

“Father! There is a..a... _ creature _ under Drake’s bed!” Damian said a little hysterically. Bruce reached up and grabbed the ceremonial sword the hung as “wall decoration” alongside the room then pushed Damian away from the door. This was Gotham. The Loch Ness monster itself could be in Tim’s room and Bruce wouldn't bat an eye. 

 

Peering into the room showed no obvious signs of an invading mystical sea creature, or otherwise. The room had a chaotic organization; things seemingly scattered everywhere, but Bruce had seen Tim walk to a pile of mismatched items many times and pull out exactly what he needed. Say what you will, the boy had a working system. Bruce frowned and stepped in, noting Dick’s and Jason’s positions behind him. He was about to let his guard down when it happened. 

 

The blanket moved. It was slowly being pulled under the bed and Bruce, despite himself, felt his grip on the sword grow tighter.  _ What had gotten into his home?  _

 

“ _ Holy Shi _ -” Jason’s vocalization of all their thoughts was cut off by a wet coughing noise. The blanket fully slipped off the bed and landed with a light thud and Bruce narrowed his eyes. 

 

There was silence for a moment before they heard it again, and this time Bruce knew exactly what he was dealing with. With a sigh, he tossed the sword behind him, hearing Dick catch it, and then moved forward before dropping to his knees, startling his sons. 

 

“Wait, Bruce-” 

 

“Hang on old man-” 

 

“ _ Father _ ,” 

 

Ignoring the protests, he moved the drapes of the bed aside and peered into the darkness, a fraction of his brain hoping that he hadn’t misjudged and was about to be attacked by a furious mystical sea creature. Sure enough, however, there was a lump to the far side, just the right size of the thing he had been expecting. 

 

“Hey buddy,” Bruce called lightly, ignoring Damian’s scandalized noise in the background, “Not feeling so well?” 

 

Tim uncurled slightly from where he had his face buried into a pillow and a death grip on the blanket he had just liberated from his bed.

 

“Headache,” he croaked.  

 

“Look’s like a bit more than that kiddo,” Bruce said, “How about we get you on the bed and take a look?” 

 

Tim proved that even within the throes of a tension headache, he was still able to dispatch scathing looks, “You can’t fix it by looking at it. Light hurts.” 

 

Bruce didn't even have to give the order before Jason was striding to the windows to close the blinds and then pull the total blackout drapes shut. The room fell into darkness with the only light coming from the still open door, where Damian still lingered. 

 

Dick crossed to the other side of the bed and leaned down, slowly pulling up the drapes on his side.

 

“Hey baby, wanna get back on the bed? It can’t be comfortable down here,” He reached out to gently tug Tim’s arm, which the younger teen pulled away with a noise of dissent. Tim mumbled something and Bruce strained to hear.

 

“-men...eaming?”

 

“What was that Tim?”

 

“...woman...screaming?” 

 

From his position on the floor making eye contact with Dick under Tim’s bed, Bruce could see his eldest strain not to burst out laughing. He heard Jason choke off a laugh and a disturbance in the air told him Damian had left. 

 

“No one is screaming anymore Tim,” Bruce said soothingly, “Come up on the bed.” 

 

With a little coaxing from them, Tim let Dick pull him into his arms, blanket and all, and then deposit him into bed. All while, of course, protesting that he was fine and just needed sleep. Or coffee. Bruce ignored both requests and accepted the medkit from Jason, who was pretending to be unaffected as they took in Tim’s flushed face and bloodshot eyes. 

 

A thermometer stuck in the protesting mouth revealed that Tim was definitely experiencing more than a migraine. 

 

“Jason can you please call Alfred for me? Tell him to prepare an ice bath,” 

 

“Bruuuce...no,” Tim slurred, almost incoherently.

 

“Woah there buddy!” Dick jumped forward as Tim attempted to slither off the bed again. He stood at the edge like a guardrail and mouthed  _ GO _ , to Jason who had hesitated by the door.

 

Bruce frowned down at the Tim shaped lump. “Tim, we need to get your temperature down,” 

 

“ _ I’m fine _ ,” Tim hissed, shooting upright to glare at the remaining members of his family. “I just want to sleep. Let me  _ sleep _ ,” 

 

Bruce stared down at the bloodshot beseeching eyes of his third son. The one with a tendency to let things like personal health slide. The one with a missing spleen. The one with severe problems in asking for help. “Okay,” He said, ignoring Dick’s head shooting up, “Okay. Go back to sleep.” 

 

“ _ Bruce _ , what are-” 

 

“It’s alright,” Bruce said mildly, making eye contact with Dick over Tim’s head. 

 

“Thank you,” Tim said emphatically, before rolling back into the fetal position and shoving his head into the cool side of the pillow. 

 

“Go ahead Dick,” Bruce flashed a few hand signals they used out on the streets and Dick suddenly stopped hesitating. 

 

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything. Rest up Timmy,” 

 

Bruce watched as Dick lightly closed the door behind him, then waited it out while his eyes adjusted to the total darkness. He felt the room begin to drop in degrees and surmised that Dick must have made it to the thermostat. If Tim didn’t want to go to the bath, he would just bring the bath to Tim. He stood like a silent sentry until Tim’s breath evened out and it appeared as if he had forgotten all about the remaining man in the room.  

 

Silently rifling through the Tim specific medkit, Bruce started to set up medication along Tim’s bedside table.  _ Why is it always you? _ He wondered, staring down at the tiny teen whose face was scrunched up in pain and breaths sounded painful. He wondered how Janet and Jack handled it when Tim got sick when he had been younger.  _ They probably didn't _ . Too many times, he could recall Tim doing something for himself with an attitude that screamed he had been entirely too self dependant to even consider the idea of someone else caring for him.

 

Well that would change. Bruce prepped a needle and slid into the bed next to Tim. The younger didn’t move, but he also didn't startle. Good boy. Aware of his surroundings even when in such a state, Bruce couldn't help but feel pride for a moment. 

 

“Tim,” His voice was Batman low without any of the harshness, “I’m going to give you something that will help,” Taking a hold of the  _ (too hot too hot, need to get the temperature down)  _ arm, Bruce expertly dispensed the painkiller antibiotic. 

 

Tim made an upset noise that Bruce outwardly ignored. The painkiller had to be working, however, because as the minutes ticked by the lines creasing Tim’s forehead eased. A few more minutes and the teen cracked his eyes open. 

 

“Gave me...the good stuff?” 

 

“You should have taken it hours ago,” Bruce chided gently. For now; later they would be having a long talk. As the antibiotic started to take effect, he could feel Tim’s temperature start to go down as his body relaxed from the frenzied state it had been in when it had been fighting off the infection alone. Bruce couldn't keep the frown from overtaking his face as he thought about what would have happened if Damian hadn’t seen Tim slowly dragging a pillow under the bed. 

 

He had thought Tim had been in San Francisco. They would have never known until Tim wanted them to know, and that would probably never happen. He was a shit parent. Jack and Janet had failed at parenting this child and now Bruce was just following right in their footsteps.

 

Stewing in his thoughts, Bruce caught sight of the goosebumps slowly forming on Tim’s arm and gently grasped the blanket and tucked it around the slender boy. He ran a hand through Tim’s long hair, a vague memory of a soothing hand in his own hair directing his motions.  _ You should have noticed he wasn't okay. Or at least that he was here _ . Seriously. What kind of a parent didn’t notice their own child sick in their own home?  _ Tim deserves better than yo- _

 

“...-ruce?” 

 

Bruce broke out of his morose thoughts and looked down at the teen that was half nestled in his lap. By all looks and appearances Tim looked fast asleep, and Bruce thought he had imagined the call until Tim spoke again. 

 

“...will you stay with me?”

 

“For as long as you need.” Maybe. Just maybe, if his company was still desired, he wasn’t that bad of a parent after all. 

  
  


\-----------------------------

 

Further away, in another section of the manor, Damian, Dick, Jason, and Alfred stood around the kitchen table. Well, Dick, Jason, and Damian were. Alfred was swiftly moving around preparing his cure-all soup.

 

“So. Damian.” Jason’s razor sharp smile was indicative of where the rest of the sentence would lead. 

 

Damian’s hackles instantly raised. “ _ Todd _ . I will not submit myself to your feeble attempts destroying the integrity of my mental state,”

 

“Guys, please not tonight.” Dick leaned against the table, rubbing his eyes with one hand and keeping the other on his phone in case Bruce sent the emergency signal.

 

"Grayson, it is not I that is the cause of your distress here!” Damian said indignantly, eyes shooting lasers at Jason. 

 

Jason rolled his eyes at Damian’s attempts to melt the side of his head through the power of vision alone and said, “Relax Goldie. Red is going to be fine. I’ve seen him get out of tougher situations.” 

 

“I didn’t even know he was  _ here,  _ Jay. Alfred did you?” A beseeching gaze was pressed upon the silent butler.

 

“Unfortunately, Master Dick, it appears that Master Tim ventured in without my knowledge also.” Alfred said, somehow looking grim and miffed simultaneously.  

 

“So who knows how long he was under there? And how long he was feeling sick before that?”

 

“Relax. You are going to work yourself up into a frenzied state if you keep thinking  _ what if _ , and I didn’t sign up to deal with your panicky ass tonight. The old man has him now and we can toss him in an ice bath later for kicks and punishment for alarming your motherly senses.”

 

“...well I mean, it will help in keeping his temperature down,” Dick’s face was the picture of innocent helpfulness. 

 

“Exactly.” 

 

“Hah. Only Drake would require such extended measures of assistance. Such weakness. How Father still deems him capable of remaining on the team baffles me.” Damian sneered. 

 

”Brat, you scream like a girl.”


End file.
